


Seven Hours

by aposse



Series: Seven [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-24 06:01:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/631226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aposse/pseuds/aposse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regina repays Emma for those Seven (godly) Minutes in Heaven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven Hours

They’d gone the whole nine yards. 

 

Had it been for Regina’s suggestion, Emma would have ‘gone home,’ turned the curb as she left and driven her way back to Regina’s or something. But no. She had to do this. Pretend to take a call of duty, pretend to drive back to the station, pretend like this wasn’t exciting her. 

 

But it was.

 

She knew it excited Regina, too. The look on her face — the slight hitch in her breath when Emma clipped her badge back onto her hip — that’s when she knew Regina had a kink. One she could use to her full advantage if the need ever arose. One, if Emma did say so herself, she could satisfy endlessly if given another chance.  But according to said kinky Mayor, tonight was about Emma. 

 

She’s pacing back and forth, cautious of the way her boots meet the wood beneath it when her eyes dart to the clock above the door. Emma sighs. It’s a quarter to midnight and she can already feel her eyes closing, can already feel her shoulders sag with fatigue. She then rids herself of the boots and sits on the edge of the bed, afraid that if she sits any closer she’ll fall asleep.

 

For the sake of tonight, she can’t.

 

For the sake of her insanely high libido, she can’t. 

 

Emma sighs into her hands, resting her elbows on her knees when she hears the turn of a knob and heels shuffle in.

 

“Tired already?” The voice is playful yet it’s laced with a darkness she can’t quite name. 

 

“It wasn’t exactly a desk duty kinda day.” She reminds Regina. “Some kids tried to steal a few things from Gold’s shop, and well..” Emma pulls up the sleeve on her blouse to reveal a faint mark on the crook of her arm. It surprises her when she feels cold fingers on her skin, and when she looks up, Regina’s there, inspecting the bruise. 

 

“Does it still hurt?” The fingers graze over it gently.

 

All Emma does is nod, keeping her lips sealed as she know her words will betray her. 

 

She watches carefully as the older woman lines the edges of the bruise with a nail. Emma trails her gaze up to furrowed brows, noting the distinct softness in them; it’s almost as if the privacy of the space is allowing it to be shown. “This is the hand you..” Regina begins, lips parting slightly as she lets the words hang in the air.

 

Emma nods again.

 

It hurt,  _like_   _h_ _ell_ , moving her fingers inside Regina the way she did. The bruise was pressed against the bone of the woman’s hips, and Emma remembers having to bite back her own whimpers with each thrust. But she knew. She knew the moment her fingers delved into that heat, warmer than Hell itself, that it was worth every tinge of pain. 

 

“I’d do it again, you know.” 

 

And that’s when she sees it. A blink and — if she squinted just a little — was that gratitude? 

 

“Then let me make it up to you.” Regina says, and before she can even finish her sentence she’s straddled Emma’s lap. 

 

Emma has to remind herself to breathe in, and when she feels fingers unbuttoning her blouse, ghosting over her chilling skin, it’s then she reminds herself to breathe out. “Regina,” She says, a little too high. Ugh. Ten seconds in and she’s already turned on like some sixteen year-old boy.

 

The fingers are at her shoulders, grabbing fistfuls of silk when they stop. “Hm?” Regina says, the inquisition nowhere near as evident as the lust. She looks up at Emma through heavy lids, her gaze switching focus from blue eyes to what she’s revealed. 

 

Then, when she drags her tongue across her teeth, its tip just grazing over her lips, Emma’s at a loss for words. She’s lost this battle of  _let’s-take-it-slow_  because really, she has no right to say such a thing, being the one to get off the mayor in only a handful of minutes.

 

“Oh,” Her tone shifts as her own legs adjust their position. She says the word like she understands what Emma isn’t able to say. 

 

“I was,” Emma takes in a long breath before continuing, “I was under the impression that this would be more than seven minutes.”

 

“I clearly stated that what I had in store for you would take more than a minute. Never did I say this would be  _more_  than seven minutes, though I’m quite certain you wouldn’t last that long.”

 

It isn’t snarled but she can still feel it in Regina’s words. “Excuse me?” She pulls away. “I don’t know if that’s an insult or—”

 

“It’s a compliment,  _Emma_.” Regina says, sliding off her lap, slowly grinding her hips against jean clad thighs. Emma holds back a groan at just how good it feels — at just how good her name sounds off Regina’s tongue. “To me. To my skill.” She rises and unzips her dress from the side. 

 

“Your  _skill?_ ” Emma scoffs, simply to hide the hitch in her breath when her eyes happen upon the sliver of skin.

 

“I have quite the dexterous fingers.” 

 

“Well, I’m up for the challenge.”

 

Regina lifts a brow in acceptance, letting the dress pool to her feet and  _fuck_. 

 

Emma’s seen lace. She’s worn lace, and  _this_  — what Regina saunters her way over in — is _not_  lace. It’s much thinner, Emma observes, able to see nipples taut against the light blue fabric. Her eyes drag down, lower, and it’s then she decides that this, more than anything, is a convenience. She licks her lips with appreciation at the sight and when Regina bends over, hands trailing up Emma’s thighs, thumb circling the band of her jeans, she does her best to not fall back on the bed.

 

Regina takes notice and threads a few fingers through the loop of her jeans. The sudden snap and absence of metal against her skin forces the blonde to open her eyes, and it’s in that moment she wishes she hadn’t. To salvage her newest pair of panties, she  _really_ shouldn’t have opened them because there’s Regina, half naked, clipping the gold badge onto her hip like the authority she holds isn’t enough to get Emma off. 

 

“Sheriff doesn’t really suit you.” She breathes the words a little too heavily.

 

“Oh, I’m still Mayor to you, Miss Swan.” Regina smirks, and that’s when Emma knows; it’s about being stripped of  _her_  authority. “This,” the red varnish leaps out against the lace beneath its touch, tapping on the badge, “this is for show.” Regina pushes Emma back on the bed and straddles her once more. 

 

“And how long is this show, exactly?” Emma asks, resting on her elbows, trying not to lift her hips at the heat she’s under. 

 

“I assume you have no other obligations tonight.”

 

“Work, tomorrow, at six.”

 

Hungry eyes shift their focus to the clock. Regina then looks back down at her, the smirk she wears nowhere near as sultry as her voice. “Seven hours, Miss Swan.”

 

Emma’s eyes widen. “Seriously?”

 

“You did say you were up to the challenge, but,” The older woman drags her hands up Emma’s exposed chest, buttoning up her blouse. “I’d understand if you’re considering stepping down.” 

 

“No,” It’s all she can say before Regina reverses the grip and pins her against the bed. 

 

Emma tries not to black out when she feels breasts rub against hers and a mouth lap at her neck. She turns her head to face the clock, wondering how in the hell she’s going last seven hours.

 

The first hour is spent teasing, licking, lapping at parts where Emma doesn’t even know she’s sensitive. She remembers a tongue dragging its way down from the base of her neck, slowly trailing through to the valley between her breasts. She remembers feeling hands wander around and over the lines of her body, nails drawing marks more red than the polish on them. She remembers hearing the way Regina’s lips sound against her skin, the way she hums in triumph when Emma lets her know she’s found the right spot. 

 

Emma also remembers shutting her eyes for the sake of not coming so easily. When she opens them the hour is up and Regina moves on.

 

The second hour starts with the unclasping of her bra. Emma sees it as the perfect excuse to arc her back, not even bothering to hold back a moan when her nipples brush against ones she’s so tempted to twist. 

 

But Regina’s got a rule. An unspoken one that was understood the moment she clipped on that badge.

 

No touching. 

 

_Regina_ , though, is able to touch. She takes takes full advantage as her head dives down to latch onto a nipple of Emma’s. She refuses to break contact, eyes never leaving pools of blue as she laps and sucks, and it’s then Emma decides that this is her favourite view of the mayor. She pays attention to every inch of her breasts equally, and to this the blonde tries not to look so pleased. That’s giving away her power — the ounce of it she has, at least — and she’d be damned if it was sucked it out of her.

 

But when Regina’s teeth graze over her nipple, tugging at the same time her tongue flicks it, Emma’s done. She relents. She gives in. She bows down to the mighty tongue of Mayor Mills. Emma lolls her head from either side, giving whatever power remains in her body to the woman that hovers over her. 

 

She feels the kisses again. They’re peppered over her body in a sporadic nature that, in turn, wreak havoc on her senses. Emma feels the kisses from her belly all the way up to her breasts, then her neck, then her jaw and then h— 

 

It stops when red lips hover over her hungry ones. “May I?” Regina asks, and though she knows the answer, she wants what Emma’s willing to give her. 

 

“ _Please._ ” 

 

A plea. 

 

Regina smirks and leans closer, but not before lifting her brows in that manner Emma knows all too well. 

 

No touching. 

 

Emma sighs, locks her jaw and lets Regina kiss her. Eyes still locked with one another, she’s able to see the hunger and desire hover, the small smile that reaches them when Regina’s teeth tug at her lip. Emma tries to bring her mind to a place of discomfort. A place where the toilets are never flushed and the floors are sticky. She tries to think of everything else but the lips against hers because she  _knows_. She knows that once she comes, this game is over and she’s lost the challenge. What kind of lover would she be, finishing at foreplay?

 

Woah.

 

Emma erases the word from her memory immediately.

 

It becomes easier when she thinks of the time she birthed Henry. Her eyes glaze over with comfort, safe for now as her lips begin numb.

 

It becomes harder — along with her nipples, if that were even possible — when Regina’s tongue seeks entrance. Emma resists, silently damning herself for showing such ease. But then there’s a hand on her chest and one in her hair, and before she can really think anything else, there’s pain.

 

A pleasurable one. A hand tugs at gold locks while the other twists a nipple and it causes Emma to gasp, mouth wide open as Regina sneaks in. Her tongue explores the cavern with desperation, staining the lines of Emma’s lips with her red and fuck it. 

 

Fuck it all.

 

Emma’s tongue flicks at Regina’s to let her know she’s game, and rather than working against the tongue she laps at it, trying to get as much of the woman’s taste to mix with her own. 

 

The third hour ends — because she’s lost track of time — when every inch of Emma is exposed, and the fourth hour begins on a light note. 

 

A light  _touch_  that crosses the barrier and over to the treasure between her legs. 

 

They’re still in the same position — Emma on the bottom with Regina hovering over — when something she doesn’t expect to happen, happens. The full weight of soft curves and expensive perfume presses against her, and Emma gasps when she feels cold metal press against her skin. The reminder of such authority only makes the wetness between her legs grow. Regina swipes a finger through the wet folds and brings it up into view, inspecting the way it feels, the way it looks, the way it—

 

“Fuck,” Emma says without thinking. She releases a shaky breath at the sight before her, at the sight of swollen lips enveloping her arousal. The same finger is then guided into Emma’s mouth.

 

“Lick.” She orders and the blonde complies, but not without flicking her tongue over it and tasting her remnants underneath the red nails. When the finger pulls out between her lips, it’s guided down between their bodies, and the gasp that escapes isn’t from her.

 

It’s from Regina this time, and from the way her eyes flutter and her lips part without her consent, Emma knows what’s happening down there.

 

“Oh,” Is all Regina manages to say, lowering herself closer to Emma as she steadies herself on one elbow.

 

“I thought this was—” Then she feels it. She feels the back of Regina’s fingers, the very same ones working over her wetness, rub against her own.

 

_Oh._

 

They stay this way for while, trying to match each other’s breaths, working their way to a steady rhythm. Though the barely-there fabric is between them, it doesn’t stop Emma from feeling the intensity of Regina’s touch. Her hips buck when the pressure on her center increases, and she does her best to not moan when Regina’s thrust up. 

 

She moans anyways, silenced with a kiss so fierce it elicits yet another. 

 

It’s then she remembers they aren’t alone, that their son is down the hall and though it should make Emma feel sick, the thought of having to keep quiet only swells the arousal. 

 

_Their_  son?

 

Emma groans at the slip of her thought and puts her limp hands to work. The rule is no longer in play, she’s sure. The way those dark eyes flutter when Emma rakes her nails over Regina’s back further proves it.

 

They break for air, yet the sight above her defeats the purpose. Almost entirely. Never has Emma seen Regina so mussed and never has she looked more— 

 

“Something wrong, dear?” 

 

Her eyes tear their focus away from faded lips, meeting the older woman’s gaze. They’re dark, lidded with lust and it only makes the ache between her legs grow. Emma just tips her chin up, parting her lips open for Regina to follow suit. 

 

The mayor, she’s come to realize, doesn’t give in so easily, quirking a brow in challenge as she stays hovered over Emma’s writhing form. She feels the fingers move faster now, rubbing out of their rhythm as her swollen nub is flicked from different directions. Emma licks her lips as a whimper escapes between shallow breaths. It’s all she apparently has to do to get Regina back down. 

 

Maybe it’s to silence her or maybe it’s because Regina just wants another kiss, but when she feels a moan hummed into her mouth, Emma decides that she doesn’t really care. She’s almost there, almost about to come when it suddenly happens.

 

Everything’s gone. 

 

The hand in her hair, the tongue in her mouth, the fingers between her wetness, the thighs that straddle her — it’s all gone. She opens her eyes to find Regina standing, leaning against the nightstand as she tries to catch her breath.

 

“Regina, what the fuck?” 

 

“Headboard.” She mutters, running a hand through her hair. She then tilts her head in the direction of the elaborate bedpost. 

 

Emma tries not to scramble to it when she realizes where Regina is pointing. She presses her bare back against the board as her eyes meet the clock, eyes widening at the fact that five hours have gone by without so much as a yawn. 

 

She’s seated against it when Regina settles onto the bed, crawling on all fours towards Emma. This view, she decides, is greater than anything she’s ever seen. She shuts her eyes and tries to commit the image into her memory.

 

When she opens them, Regina’s no more than a foot away, settled between her legs with a grin so mischievous that it almost scares Emma. 

 

Well, not as much as it arouses her.

 

She grabs Emma by the ankles and pushes up until Emma’s thighs are pressed against her bare chest. Regina runs her hands over the skin, teasing lightly before she does it. She can’t remember exactly when, but somewhere between the touch and that damn smile, Regina’s managed to hook both of Emma’s legs over her shoulders and gone in. 

 

The two fingers work fast, wasting no time. Emma arcs at the touch, chest pressing harder onto her legs, breath reaching farther into Regina’s open mouth. 

 

She can’t deny that what’s she’s been reduced to is nothing but pathetic, but she also can’t deny the fact that she enjoys every second of it. There’s something about the woman’s touch that makes it addictive. There’s something about it that makes Emma yearn for more and she can’t believe it’s only happening now. How she’s spent months damning the manipulativeness of Regina is lost on her because dear  _fuck_  does it feel good. 

 

The way Regina manipulates her fingers into doing these ungodly things is beyond Emma, also.

 

And just when she’s about to voice whatever is on the tip of her tongue, she feels it.

 

The fingers inside her thrust in and up, over and over again, faster and faster to the point where she throws her head back against the wooden board at the pleasure and  _fuck_  that hurts. 

 

The sound startles Regina and she quickly lowers the blonde onto the bed, resting the back of her head against a pillow. Not once does she break her rhythm, and it really pisses Emma off because she’s about to come and she can’t do a single thing about it.

 

Except writhe.

 

And squirm.

 

And thrash her head (safely) against the pillow.

 

It’s overwhelming, the feeling building up and out to every edge lining her body. Her breaths are more shallow and her hands are grabbing at the sheets, legs wrapped tightly around Regina as she works a final thrust inside.

 

That’s when Emma knows she’s done. 

 

She feels her body go limp. The grip her legs hold loosens and her knuckles revert back to a healthy colour before everything shakes. Emma feels the awaited orgasm course through her, not missing a single inch of her body as she wrings her arms around Regina’s neck. She pulls her in closer, presses their lips together and moans. Regina responds, but instead of kissing back hard like Emma expects, it’s different.

 

It’s soft, it’s light, and as hard as the words are that escape them sometimes, Regina’s lips feel like feathers against hers. Emma trembles further at the delicate touch. “Regina,” She finally manages to get out. It’s barely a whisper yet with the way brunette’s eyes fly open, she knows it’s been heard loud and clear. 

 

Regina retracts her touch from all places except Emma’s lips. She then presses a final kiss onto them before hovering over the blonde, and despite the authority on her hips and power of her position, there’s a softness in Regina’s eyes she can’t unsee.

 

“You lost.” She says, fingers brushing back a few strands of gold that’s stuck on Emma’s forehead. 

 

“I won.”

 

A brow lifts in amusement. “Is that so?”

 

“Regina, you teased me for five hours and I  _just_  came.” Emma says it like it’s an accomplishment, and she thinks that if she were ever rewrite her resume, this experience would be definitely an example of her patience. 

 

“The deal was seven hours.” Regina looks over to the clock. “You ran short by one, give or take.”

 

Emma rises, wrapping her arms around the small of the woman’s back, lowering the hovering form to straddle her once more. The gesture this time is less intimate. More.. snug, like it’s right.

 

“Is it my fault you have magic fingers?”

 

Regina smirks. “I warned you.”

 

“Indeed you did.” 

 

Then a silence falls over them. Emma rests her head against Regina’s chest, peppering kisses wherever she can reach. She smiles into one of them when she feels the rapid beats of a heart against her lips. 

 

Regina pushes her back down in response. 

 

“Well, Sheriff Swan,” She begins, unclipping the badge from the band of the barely-there fabric, handing it over to Emma. “What do you suggest we do for the next hour?” 

 

She doesn’t even have to think to say it. “Sleep.” And as if on queue, Emma yawns, the mention of the word causing the fatigue return. She feels the weight of it against her chest, and for a moment she thinks it’s Regina. Emma then opens her eyes, realizing that the only thing in her view is the ceiling. The dip of the space next to her is enough to let her know where the other woman’s gone.

 

“Sleep we shall.” 

 

It’s all Emma hears, and though she’s nearly asleep, she knows that in this very moment, something inside her has awakened. 


End file.
